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Dating Jewish Men
An interview with Emily Comisar and Sarah Pumroy
Emily and Sarah are twenty-something Jewish women living in New York City. In spite of the odds, their love of Judaism has not translated into a love of Jewish men.
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Growing up, did your families impose expectations that you should marry Jewish?
Sarah: I think my parents always wanted me to marry a good person. The focus was never on the person’s religion. My father was Catholic when he married my mom (he later converted to Judaism), so it would have been hypocritical for them to pressure me into a Jewish marriage.
Emily: My mom wasn’t Jewish when she met my dad, so my parents were in sort of an opposite situation. She converted before they were married and my brothers and I were raised secularly so there was no discussion at all of religion playing a part in who I decided to be with.
Have your respective family situations affected your dating histories?
Sarah: I haven’t been in a serious relationship with any Jewish guys. In college, I dated a tall, skinny redhead from the suburbs of Milwaukee – definitely not Jewish. Later on, I dated another tall, skinny redhead (I guess I have a “type”) from rural Minnesota – also not Jewish. I thought we might end up staying together for a long time, and he was fine with the fact that I wanted to have a Jewish family. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I always wondered if I could raise a Jewish family if my partner wasn’t Jewish. But since my mom did, I thought I could too.
I did date two Jewish guys casually in between relationships, but it never got serious.
Now, I’m single…
What’s your number?
Sarah: …
Just kidding…[smiles; scratches chin; looks away] Right…So Emily, what about you?
Emily: I’ve only been in two serious relationships in my life. I suppose I know what I don’t want when I see it and tend to shut it down as soon as I know it wont work.
My two brief experiences with Jewish men, incidentally, both ended badly. One of them dumped me after a couple weeks of casual dating to immediately begin pursuing my roommate, the other led me to believe he wanted an emotional relationship when all he wanted was a physical one.
My first serious boyfriend was Albanian, Eastern Orthodox, and knew very little about Judaism. Even though the relationship lasted almost two years, we always knew that the difference in religion was going to have a detrimental effect on us. He was happy to celebrate Chanukah and Passover with me, but his ideological issues with some aspects of Judaism gave him cause to debate me on several occasions.
My second real relationship is only just beginning, and although he has one Jewish grandparent, he too was raised with little knowledge of the religion.
Does his Jewish ancestry make you feel any different about him?
Emily: I think what’s more important to me is that he isn’t tied to a religious philosophy that I fundamentally disagree with.
How, if at all, do you want Judaism to play a role in your current relationship?
Emily: I hope that he understands and appreciates it as a part of who I am. We already share the same set of values, regardless of our religious upbringings, so that’s not an issue. I want him to be willing to celebrate with me when I am moved to celebrate.
Sarah: If I fall in love and marry someone who isn’t Jewish, this is how I would want it to be too.
Sarah, so why do you think you’ve mostly dated non-Jewish guys?
Sarah: I really don’t know why I’ve dated mostly non-Jews–they just happen to have been people I’ve been drawn to. As I get older, I’m starting to think it’s more important for me to intentionally date Jewish guys, since I want to marry a Jewish man eventually.
This is a challenging situation. It feels wrong not to date someone I like just because he isn’t Jewish. But I’m also at the age when, any day, I could meet the person I eventually end up marrying.
Have you ever put yourself in a situation where you could be intentionally meeting or dating a Jewish guy?
Sarah: I’m cringing at this question, because the answer is “no.” Outside of work, few of my friends are Jewish, so I’m rarely in a situation where I meet Jewish guys.
I don’t really want to join a synagogue. I’m not interested in meat-market mixers. Should I join J-Date? That doesn’t sound all that appealing either…I think I’ve been hoping that I’ll randomly meet a Jewish guy someday. I live in New York City, so there’s a good chance it could happen.
So who do you want to end up with?
Sarah: I want to marry someone Jewish, have a Jewish household and Jewish children. I’m not at all religious, but I love being Jewish. It would seem tragic to me for my children to not be a part of such a rich tradition.
Emily, what about you? Who do you want to end up with and why?
Emily: One thing you said [Sarah] really resonated with me: I’m not at all religious, but I love being Jewish. I once found myself excitedly describing Shabbat to my current boyfriend as if I were a five-year-old on Christmas morning. At the same time, and after lots of consideration, I’ve decided that I don’t need to be married to a Jewish person to live the kind of Jewish life that I want for myself.
Being the product of a mixed marriage myself, I know that it can be difficult to impart some of the traditions on your children when both parents are not Jewish, but I also found that, being in that situation, I was able to find and choose Judaism for myself.
Sarah: I liked what you said about how having parents from different backgrounds led you to “find and choose Judaism for yourself.” I wonder if the same thing happened to me as a result of growing up in a mixed household. They say that children of intermarriage generally aren’t raised with a strong sense of Jewish identity, but you and I seem to be exceptions to that rule.
Emily: If only there were a formula!
Photo by CarbonNYC, licensed under Creative Commons.
The Journey, On Tape
by Daliya Karnofksy
When asked to write a follow-up to my monologue, I decided to give it a view, since I hadn’t seen it in a while. Of the two versions I found, one was of the very first time I did the monologue. I was freshly-married and waving my ring around joyously as I told my story and realized I was funny, and worthy of being loved.
The second version was about a year and a half later. I was a lot thinner from stress, no ring anywhere, and carrying the cool distance of someone who had loved and lost.
My performance was much more engaging in the first one, if a bit sloppy. How open I was! How free and excited. I was falling in love with myself as a solo performer for the first time in much the same way I had fallen in love with my soldier. No holds barred, juicing for laughs and bathing in the attention. Shocked by the positive response.
In the second video, my performance is tighter. I obviously know what I’m doing; I have carefully choreographed my movements and know when to hold for the laughs. I expect the love, and yet feel I don’t deserve it.
At this point in time I was ending a long-term relationship that began shortly after the end of my marriage. It was round two of love for me, and I was losing again. So while I was more polished, I struggled for the joy and was far less engaging. I just didn’t want to get too close to the story I was telling. My mouth was moving but my heart stayed where it belonged.
In both of these relationships I was the one who technically ended it, but that didn’t make it any easier, because each time I felt like a failure. Yes, I married too young, and we were not right for each other. He didn’t want me to be an actress, and I had to follow my dream. But why couldn’t I just hold it together? There was no point in asking why I had gotten married. I don’t regret what I did. I needed to know if we belonged together.
At one point during our marriage, I remember my husband turning to me as we walked down our street on a summer night, and telling me were “zeevoog,” a Hebrew word that means soulmates. At that moment it felt as if we were. Sometimes I still think we may be, but we found each other in the wrong place and the wrong time, and “zeevoog” just wasn’t enough. I considered staying with him until it was the right place and time. When I’m thirty-five, I thought, I’ll really appreciate the security. But in that moment I knew that if I just waited to be happy for the next eleven years until I was thirty-five, all it would turn into was a bunch of resentment and whatever “zeevoog” we had would be long gone.
So we split, and I dove headlong into another relationship, to seal up my wounds and convince myself I was capable of doing it. Since my husband had been my first love, I just needed to know I hadn’t blown my one and only chance. Everyone told me not to jump into anything, just like everyone told me not to get married. Try as I might to keep some distance and re-establish my independence, it was so much easier to feel loved and needed and become half of a couple again. I know it doesn’t have to be one or the other. Or that’s what I’m told, though I haven’t quite figured it out for myself yet.
Of course, after about a year of that, my heart revolted again, saying it wasn’t ready, and really, where was my independence? I kept putting my own dreams aside and blaming it on the person I was with. It was his fault I wasn’t writing, his fault I didn’t make it to yoga in the morning or develop better eating habits. I grew angry and resentful all over again, when I had promised not to. I was kicking and screaming to get out, and it was no secret to him. I treated him badly and he put up with it, and was not surprised when I ended it.
Only I was surprised at how bad it felt this time. I had my freedom again; wasn’t I happy? No one was holding me back, keeping me from what I truly wanted. Then why did I feel so alone, and scared, and so much like a failure? I am coming closer to the realization that the people I choose to be with have absolutely nothing to do with whether or not I achieve my dreams. Every decision I make is entirely my own. They are there to support and love me, and that is why I am there for them. They are not there to force me to do what I love or make sure my needs are being met. Only I can do that.
I recently performed my monologue after some time away, now two and a half years after the first time, and I imagine if it had been filmed, I would have again seen a different performance. The cool distance was gone but the self-confidence remained, as I was willing to admit this time that I loved him and I was sad when the marriage ended. And yes, I felt like a failure. The first step is admitting these feelings, and choosing to learn from them instead of wallowing in them. I loved the best way that I could, and then realized that would never be enough if I didn’t take the time to love myself by tending to my own needs. The pursuit of my dreams doesn’t end because someone is lying next to me tempting me to sleep in; I just have to kiss them on the forehead and jump out of bed, ready to greet the day on my own.
Photo by eivindw, licensed under Creative Commons.
What Comes First?
By Yocheved Sidof
What comes first, the chicken or the egg? What about love or sex? In my life, Love came first; or so I thought…
I grew up in a tightly knit Chassidic community in the Midwest, the first-born child of Iranian immigrants. I was raised with a lot of rules. Some were religiously influenced and others were cultural, but one of the big rules – NO Boys – fell equally into both categories: big-time religious and cultural no-no’s. According to the laws of Tzniut (modesty), boys and girls are separated from a very young age. There is very little socializing, and absolutely no touching, between opposite genders in strict Orthodox communities. (These laws are meant to sensitize us to the power of attraction and the sanctity of sexuality). That aside, there was no way my parents would let their Persian Princess be swept off her feet too easily; it just wouldn’t fly.
I came to New York City at the vulnerable age of seventeen to attend Stern College for Women. It was my first independent foray into this crazy “concrete jungle where dreams are made of” (Sorry, I couldn’t resist). Suddenly, I was surrounded by tons of women who were hanging out with guys, dating, looking for The One. My friends covered the whole spectrum: some dated without touching their partners at all, while others slept with their boyfriends. I fell somewhere in the middle. (Don’t tell my parents.) As I searched for my soulmate, I had one big rule – I would only have sex with my husband.
The issues of touch and sexuality were never so clear-cut for me. My convictions were totally in-line with my upbringing, but it was hard to hold stead-fast when there were so many pressures to deal with. Then, after years of tumultuous relationships and broken hearts, I met my man. We shared common interests, common values, and common goals, but we never shared a bed; we wanted our intimate life to begin as a committed, married couple.
We both believed in the sanctity of sex, and wanted to express that union of body and soul only within the context of a committed marriage. Sure it’s a risk (we all know the ‘test-drive a car’ analogy), but it was a risk we felt was worth taking.
I’m directing a documentary called Can’t Touch This, about the laws surrounding premarital intimacy in Judaism, i.e. Shomer Negiah. We have on-camera interviews with Rabbis, sex therapists, psychologists, and educators, and most importantly, hours of honest conversation with people who grapple with this question almost everyday: What is the interplay between religion and sex? How, if at all, does a person’s belief in G-d inform his or her sexual choices?
For one of my favorite shoots we traipsed to Times Square, camera in tow, to get some man-on-the-street interviews. Under the tantalizing billboards of scantily-clad men and women, we asked our fellow New Yorkers questions about sexuality, such as: How often do you think about sex? How did you learn about sex? What is meaningful touch? If in a relationship, how long would you wait to have sex? One honest man offered this take on building sexual compatibility: “If you have the mental chemistry, and you’re hitting it off, I believe the sex can be just as exciting. It just has to be… nurtured. And I just have not been lucky enough to find someone with that kind of patience. We live in a fast food society, fast sex, everything is fast. I don’t have time to practice with you. We’ve got to get it right the first or second time, or I’ve got to move on.”
I didn’t decide to marry my husband based on our sexual compatibility, how great he is in bed, or how quickly we each learned the other’s desires… I didn’t have any idea how we’d vibe together as a sexual couple. We formed our shared sexual identity as a married couple, and that created a beautiful, yet very vulnerable, sense of intimacy. Love and sex were woven together in a cycle, allowing each to nurture the other. It definitely wasn’t seamless, but I knew that even if our intimate life wasn’t perfect, I wasn’t at risk of losing him–he truly loves me for me, and not for how adept I may be in bed. We would work through the rough patches, and commit ourselves to gratifying each other–not for sex’s sake, but for love’s.
And you know what? That man-on-the-street is right. We do have unrealistic expectations about sexual gratification. Popular media totally misleads us about how sexual compatibility is formed. It’s not instantaneous. Nobody has ‘great sex’ right away. It takes time, practice, sensitivity, commitment … and a whole lot of love.
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Yocheved Sidof is a photographer, filmmaker, and teacher who lives in Brooklyn, NY. She and her husband Yossi are the proud parents of Reuven Uriyah, 4 years old, and Ma’ayan Chaya, 22 months.
08: The Sex Issue
This week we introduce Issue #8: The Sex Issue
Sex. It’s not the first thing that comes to mind when we think about “The Jewish People.” Maybe humor (keep an eye out for the “Why We Laugh” Issue, debuting on March 1st), intelligence (and the “Jewish Geniushood” Issue, debuting on March 15th), or rich cultural traditions. Now that’s Jewish. But sex? Sure we have some sexy people, like Natalie Portman, Israeli model Bar Refaeli, Paul Newman, and a few other stars who made it into Adam Sandler’s “Hanukkah Song.” But that’s not really the same.
So why this whole “Jews and Sex” thing? As it so happens, sex is an integral, and even a prescribed part of Judaism. There are, of course, certain caveats that come with this statement (such as the underlying expectation that you are married if you’re having sex), but the fact remains – Judaism looks at sex as an important and holy part of life. For example, it is a man’s responsibility to give his woman sexual pleasure. Yes, we said “responsibility.” And on Shabbat, it’s considered a “double-mitzvah” for a married couple to seal the deal. Now we have a better idea of where the concept of Shabbat “naps” comes from. We’re onto you, Uncle Jon and Aunt Margaret.
- Alef
Photo by NeoGaboX, licensed under Creative Commons.
The Sex Issue Posts:
From Jesus, With Love
Seduction in the Land of Israel
An Unorthodox Coming Out Story
The Foreskin, and the Man Behind It
Nice Jewish Girl No More
No Excuses
The Virgin Chronicles
It Takes More Than Making Out
The Love of the Game
Jewish Identity Through Burlesque
Do You Have The Touch?
07: The Love Issue
This week we introduce Issue #7: The Love Issue
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When we originally wracked our brains about what to call Issue #7 we came up with a strategy that was sure to knock the socks off our readers: call Issue #7 “Sexless Love” and then follow it up with Issue #8, “Loveless Sex.” What could be more interesting for the two weeks leading up to Valentines Day, we thought, than to take the two qualities generally considered in modern society to comprise a healthy relationship, and pull them apart? But as our writers turned to their desks and we to our drawing tables, we all discovered that separating Love from Sex and finding stories with one, but not the other, wasn’t as simple as we had thought.
We decided our best course of action was to simplify it all, which is why Issue #7 is now “The Love Issue.” Love and relationships, we’ve found, figure quite prominently in Judaism. In fact, there’s even a love song, known as “Eishet Chayil” (translated as “Woman of Valor”) that many Jewish husbands sing to their wives during Shabbat. Describing the ideal woman and perfect wife in biblical Judaism, the verses dictate that she be industrious, faithful, strong, and virtuous.
These days, all it takes is a click of a remote or a mouse to see what Love has become for much of our generation. From reality shows like The Bachelor to social-networking sites like Facebook to dating portals like OKCupid and JDate, mainstream notions of Love and how to find it have taken on an entirely new set of characteristics. But as much as we say that love and relationships have changed, perhaps they haven’t changed as much as we imagine. Is finding dates on Match.com really so different from the age-old concept of matchmaking?
Suffice it to say, for the next two weeks we’re going to tackle questions about this most mystical and timeless of concepts: what is love? where do we find it? how it is shaped and guided by our Jewish identities? Take this opportunity to snoop into the diaries of our writers, and join in the conversation yourselves.
-Alef
Photo by jmscottIMD, licensed under Creative Commons.
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The Love Issue Posts:
What Comes First?
Matchmaker of Jewish New York
I’ve Got a Crush on Regina Spektor
Israeli Slang for V-Day
Reverse Celebrity Crush
The Journey, On Tape
Dating Jewish Men
The Interfaith Question
The Best Relationship
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